Quidditch Conversations
by orangepenguin
Summary: Funny random scenes of life at Hogwarts. Plotless but not Pointless! More fangirls, mistletoe, Lockhart plotting, and womanly wiles than you can shake a stick at. New: The Great Meatball Caper.
1. Fangirls and Hair Products

**Quidditch Conversations**

**Chapter 1: Fangirls and Hair Products**

It was another day at Gryffindor Quidditch practice. The disheveled and dashing Harry Potter zoomed daringly close to the stands, in chase of the tiny golden snitch. He did not see them, but hiding behind the bleachers were two of his biggest fans, the ever ubiquitous Random Fangirls—no one was sure what House they belonged to, they never seemed to attend classes...Theyjust sort of lurked, like living ghosts, breathing only for a glimpse of the Famous Harry Potter.

Random Fangirl the First was crouching with binoculars. Her face was oddly forgettable, but filled with longing. She whispered, in tones of utmost passion to her companion, "He is soo hot!"

Random Fangirl the Second sighed in agreement. She, too, had a face no one would remember, perhaps explaining her ability to be unclassified within Hogwarts and for people to ignore her complete inability to contribute anything to society besides sighs and exclamations of lust. "The way his hair is all...blown back."

"It makes him looks so…" Random Fangirl the First paused for a moment, searching for a word that could convey her intense attraction, "cool."

Random Fangirl the Second nodded in passionate agreement. Then an actual thought entered her head and knocked her backwards in surprise. "Are we obsessive?" she asked of her friend.

Random Fangirl the First was not really listening, as Harry was flying quite fast, almost too fast for her to follow with her Harryoculars. "What do you mean?" It was a question she asked often.

"All we do is stalk…um…" she looked frightened at Random Fangirl the First's expression. She had used the S-word, forbidden by all Random Fangirls. "I mean, all we do is follow Harry everywhere."

Random Fangirl the First pondered this for a moment, even putting down her Harryoculars. Slowly she began, "Well…we could get a new hobby?"

The two girls shared a deeply pained expression. It was all the thinking. They weren't used to the stress.

Random Fangirl the Second stood up suddenly, banging her head on the bleachers. She fell back down, barely noticing the pain. It was to be expected when you were constantly hiding under and behind things hoping to steal a glance at your love. "Oh! I know!"

"What?" Random Fangirl the First asked, relieved that she hadn't actually had to think of something.

Random Fangirl the Second leaned forward, eagerly, the bump on her forehead swelling and becoming purple. "We could market a line of hair care products to give people Hair like Harry's!"

"Yeah! Everyone will want some, we'll be millionaires!"

Random Fangirl the Second gasped, having another thought; two in one day, this was possibly a new record. "When we have a million Galleons, we could _buy a Harry of our own."_

Both of the Fangirl's mouths fell open, and they began to giggle in a way that would have been quite evil, if they were actually aware of the meaning of that word.

They jumped up, so excited that they actually left Harry's Quidditch practice early! The instant they were gone, a sinister voice came from the bleacher below. It was Gilderoy Lockhart! He stood up quickly, also bumping his head, but not noticing either… he had removed the part of his brain that felt pain after reading a few unsatisfactory book reviews many years ago.

He proclaimed grandly, with many an exclamation point, "No they won't! No Random Fangirl is going to have a range of hair care products before I do! Henchman!"

Then from behind a pillar, Hermione emerged answering his call, although apparently not happily, "How many times do I have to tell you? It's hench PERSON!"

Lockhart looked momentarily confused at the interruption and then muttered, "Person, right..." He took a moment to regain his composure, and continued in a booming voice. "When will my hair care products be ready for mass marketing?"

Hermione looked suspicious, "In a few weeks, why?"

Lockhart took a deep steadying breath, "That's too long! We have competition afoot." He looked hard at Hermione with his heart-melting blue eyes, and continued in a low wicked voice, "Make sure they're never marketed."

Hermione gasped, she had always most loved his intensity, "Of course" she murmured, before scurrying off to do his bidding.

Once he was sure she was gone and no one was around, he rubbed his eyes hard, "I have to do something about these colored contacts, they're killing me!"

**A/N: Hope you liked it, the Lockhart/Fangirl competition will be continued in the next chapter. **


	2. Taking them Out, and Spring Rolls

**Quidditch Conversations**

**Chapter 2: Taking Them Out and Spring Rolls**

**AN: Here is the stunning sequel to Fangirls and Hair Products: Hope you enjoy the plotless (but not pointless) conclusion to this segment.**

A dashing Gilderoy Lockhart and a fawning Hermione Granger were sitting on either side of Lockhart's desk in his gallery of self portraits…err…office. He leaned forward, brow furrowed with deep concentration that made Hermione shudder with longing. "This is step is very important," he intoned, his melodious voice bringing goosebumps to Hermione's arms.

"Yes?" she asked, in a voice faint with hope and anticipation.

"Yes?" asked all 1,764 portraits from their various frames around the room, all in fawning adoration. Hermione gave the nearest one a sharp look, and turned back to Lockhart.

"What must I do?" she asked, awaiting his response with bated breath.

A wicked gleam took his eye, and his voice dropped down a sexy octave, "Take them out."

Hermione involuntarily had a sharp intake of breath. "Take them out?"

Lockhart rolled his eyes, and snapped, voice back to its slightly irritating timbre, "The Random Fangirls. Take them out." He gestured, not slit throats, or guns to the head, but two people talking. "You know, _out._"

Hermione, finally understood, and a horrified expression claimed her face, "Forthree weeks?"

"Well if that's how long it takes for my products to be marketed..." Lockhart replied snippily, leaning back in his gilt chair.

"Don't get snippy with me," she responded, secretly glowing...she loved when he got snippy with her..."I might need outside help, how do you feel about a new henchman?" she asked.

Lockhart smiled rather smugly. "What happened to saying henchperson?"

Hermione's face fell slightly, "Well this one's male... so I supposed it really didn't matter. Of course, if you really want to use the neutral term that would be far more equal, as far as genders go—"

"Whatever! I don't have time for your silly Equal Rights musings! I don't care, as long as the Fangirls are out of the way."

Hermione grinned wickedly, "Don't worry, they will be."

A few minutes later, Hermione burst through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room. She stopped short, attempting to compose herself and looking around the crowded room. Pushing past a gaggle of first years, she spotted Harry sitting alone by the fire, working on a Potions essay. "Harry!"

He looked up in surprise. "What?"

She took a deep breath, steeling herself, "I'm going to ask you for a huge favor. Please, it's vitally important."

Harry looked bemused. "Hermione, I know you aren't a part of some secret underground organization, so you really don't need to act like a national emergency hinges on me letting you borrow my cloak or whatever."

Hermione sighed impatiently. "Will you do this for me?"

"Do_ what?"_

Hermione, sat down, holding his hands in her own. "Harry, if you have to ask, then it is obvious that you do not trust me completely, and I will need to find another source of aid." She stood, and took a step away, calling back over her shoulder. "Malfoy seemed highly willing to _do me a favor_ last time we had a heart to heart chat over a gently simmering cauldron, his hair, like platinum, hanging softly in front of his eyes…"

Harry shuddered, "Stop! Okay, I'll do your favor. Just don't ever talk about Draco's hair to me again."

Hermione grinned, "But it's so lovely…" At Harry's expression she laughed. "I'm kidding! And thank you. All I need is for you to take these girls out for spring rolls."

Harry looked slightly relieved. "That's no big deal- when?"

"Forthenextthreeweeks."

Harry looked confused. "I'm sorry, what?"

"For the next three weeks."

"You're kidding."

Hermione grimaced, "Actually, no."

Harry, looking like he was about to say no, fiddled with his quill and Hermione jumped in, understanding the necessary lengths that one must go in order to fulfill a person's lifelong dream…even if that dream was just marketing a line of hair care products. "Please? I'll set you up with Cho Chang."

Immediately, Harry jumped up and shook her hand. "Done! Who are they?"

Hermione made that same strange grimace again, "Umm... you'll see..."

A few hours later, Harry and the Random Fangirls (First and Second) were sitting in the corner booth of an Asian cuisine restaurant.

Random Fangirl the First leaned in close to him, attempting to twirl her hair flirtatiously, and ending up with a knot around her finger. As she untangled it, she whispered in what must have seemed like a seductive voice, "Oh Harry, you have the most gorgeous eyes..."

"Yeah... they're so like, green!" Random Fangirl the Second butted in, smiling widely, and nearly blinding Harry with her brilliantly whitened teeth.

Harry raised his hand uncomfortably, to get the waiter's attention. "More spring rolls, please?" His voice was desperate, but the waiter took no pity.

"I'm sorry sir, we have a 253 spring roll limit. You'll have to settle for squid."

Harry looked hopeless, "But I... oh, damn." He sat further back, trying to ignore the girls pressing entirely too close to him on both sides.

Random Fangirl the Second called out cheerfully, "I love squid if Harry loves squid!"

Random Fangirl the First nodded passionately in agreement, and almost toppled into Harry's lap.

Ignoring her, Harry threw his hands in the air, "Hermione!"

**A/N: Mmm…lots of randomness. Hopefully enjoyable, if with no literary merit whatsoever. Let me know what you think, and please give suggestions for future conversations.**


	3. Mistletoe Issues

**Quidditch Conversations **

Chapter 3: Mistletoe Issues

Over Christmas break, Harry and Ron decided to practice Quidditch in the snow. It may have been below zero, and the Snitch may have stopped working because its wings had frozen together...but they had had fun nonetheless. After the interesting conditions of the practice, they were more than a little glad to enter the relative warmth of the locker room. However, they were surprised to find it occupied by none other than their dearest bushy friend, Hermione.

She was standing in the doorway to the bathroom, eyes closed and lips puckered. Magically levitated above her head was a sprig of mistletoe. Harry and Ron exchanged surprised and amused looks, and stepped closer to her. "Err…Hermione?" Harry asked.

Hermione jumped about a foot in the air, and turned around angrily. "Harry! Ron! What are you doing here?"

Ron, barely suppressing his laughter at her indignation, replied, "We've been playing Quidditch…what are _you _doing here?"

"Why were you playing Quidditch when it's below zero and snowing?" Hermione attempted to distract them from the matter at hand, but her huffy manner couldn't disguise the sheepish flush rising in her cheeks.

"Why were you standing under mistletoe by yourself?" Harry asked, his face making the odd pucker of someone trying extremely hard not to smile.

Hermione dropped her head, looking embarrassed, and scanned the room to make sure they were quite alone. "Okay, listen, I was lonely. I'm tired of always being the best friend, or the smart one. Face it, at Hogwarts I'm the faithful sidekick, or the handy homework helper. I'm never…I'm never the…the Cho Chang, I suppose!" she took a deep breath. "I want a _freaking kiss!_"

Harry and Ron exchanged another dubious look, this was quite beyond their limited scope of experience. "Well, okay…" Ron began. "But that still doesn't explain…I mean, no one's _here, _Hermione."

"I know…I was hoping to lure some hot Quidditch players here with my womanly wiles. But the only people who've turned up are you two."

Ron flushed slightly, and asked softly, "Were you…ah, waiting on someone in particular?"

Hermione shook her head. "Not so much. Just someone hot."

Harry shrugged, and grabbed Hermione by the shoulders. "Okay then," he said with a half smile, and gave her a resounding smack of a kiss. Ron's mouth dropped open. This was _not_ the type of thing he and Harry usually got up to with their dearest bushy friend. And besides, he had been the one getting all red and shy…this should have been his awkward moment! Why did Harry always have to steal the mistletoe?

Hermione opened her eyes, looking positively shocked and terrified. "What was that?"

Harry smiled coyly, "Well, you wanted someone hot…"

Ron sat down on a bench, hard. He felt a mixture of anger and absolute shock, mixed with some amusement. He was suddenly capable of feeling many things all at once, it was quite interesting.

Hermione on the other hand, just felt a little ill. "I'm going to go now." As she turned to leave, the mistletoe followed, trailing a couple of feet above her head.

"You forgot the mistletoe!" Ron called after her.

Hermione looked up, and then shrugged. "It's okay. Who knows? Maybe it just needed a test run, and now it'll attract some actual hot guys."

After the door closed behind her, Ron burst out laughing. Looking slightly abashed, Harry muttered, "Shut up," before they both turned to their lockers and began taking off their robes. After a moment Harry asked, "Did she say womanly wiles?"

Ron shook his head. "Girls."

"You said it."

**A/N: Thanks to all who have read and reviewed. I hope this new installment does not disappoint. A request, if you are an anonymous reviewer I'd love to have your email address so that I can thank you…you certainly deserve it for being so divinely kind. **


	4. The Worst Prank Ever

**Quidditch Conversations**

**Chapter 4: The Worst Prank Ever.**

**A/N: Some Fred and George randomness. I am not JK Rowling, although it pleases me to imagine that she might play around with her characters in much the same way I have, putting them in the most uncomfortable and ridiculous situations she can…It can't all be battles and intrigue, you know…**

It was a cold early December day, and Fred and George were hanging around the Quidditch pitch, early (for once) to practice. They had just spend a good couple of hours in detention for McGonagall, turning oddly transfigured rats without tails, spiders with between thirty and a hundred legs, not to mention that turtle with the eerily glowing red eyes, back into teacups.

The whole time, Fred had kept unusually quiet, until even McGonagall had commented, "I know the third years' shoddy spellwork is irritating, but considering that you would keep talking through a Dementor attack, something must be going on."

Fred had just smiled slightly, and McGonagall had felt a pang of anticipating imminent disaster go through her heart. It was a common feeling around the twins, especially when they smiled the sort of slight smile which she knew meant filling out paperwork, and writing yet another owl to Molly Weasley, who undoubtedly had a library of such detention notices by this point in the twins' Hogwarts career.

But now the two were at the Quidditch pitch, whiling away the time, and George was watching Fred expectantly. If something was brewing in that ginger head of his, it was only a matter of time before it spilled forth, the twins could never keep from sharing anything for long. Not from each other, at least.

"Okay, George, I have an idea."

"What?" George asked, moving closer to his twin, ready for anything.

Fred leaned in confidentially, and said in a low excited whisper, "We could switch places!"

George groaned, "We've tried that, remember, in second year? Nobody noticed except Percy, who wrote to Mum…right git, and got us a Howler."

"It might still be fun," wheedled Fred.

"I dunno…"

Fred looked crestfallen, then brightened. "Or we could set fire to the staff room!"

George grinned, "Now you're talking!"

They high fived, and then turned, hearing the frozen grass crunch. It was Angelina. Fred winked at George, and George sighed. Fine, he would play along, if Fred insisted on this ridiculous farce.

Angelina walked up to Fred and said quietly, "Listen, Fred... I want to talk to you about us going to the Yule Ball."

Fred looked surprised, but decided to go through with it anyway. "Actually, I'm George."

Angelina looked startled. "Oh! I'm sorry. Oi! Fred!" she called over to him.

George walked over, "Yeah?"

Angelina sighed. "Can I talk to you in private?"

"Sure." George said, winking at Fred.

They walked a little way off, and George wondered what sort of awkward situation Fred's little prank was going to get him in now.

Angelina stopped and said, "Listen, Fred, I know you asked me to the Yule Ball, and that was very sweet of you, and of course we're really good friends, but..." She trailed off, and George looked puzzled.

"But what?" George asked. He could see Fred a couple of yards away, trying not to look out of his mind with curiosity.

Angelina took a deep nervous breath and said, "I can't keep lying to you, Fred. I'd really rather go with George…Do you understand?"

George's mouth dropped open, "What?"

Angelina winced, "I know, I'm really sorry...I've just always had a bit of a thing for him, and it's not like we get opportunities like this very often at Hogwarts, and…I'm sorry."

"Well, we won't have to set fire to the staff room now. He was right, this is a good prank," George muttered, looking over at his twin, incredulously.

"What are you talking about?"

George grinned, "Nothing important. I'll tell you later. Listen, it's fine. I wouldn't want to stand in the way of true love, after all. Let's go back to Fred. I mean, George."

Angelina looked extremely confused, although slightly relieved. "I worry about you two. You know that, don't you?"

"Why?"

Angelina smiled weakly, "The identity crises. It seems like it would be hard."

George looked up at the sky, shaking with repressed laughter, "You have no idea."

**A/N: Thanks for all the readers and especially the reviewers who keep me going. I promise that all proffered ideas will be snatched up and used in future conversations. Special love to the ever faithful CrazyDreamerGirl.**


	5. Nicknames and Aerodynamic Hair

**Quidditch Conversations **

**Chapter Five: Nicknames and Aerodynamic Hair**

**A/N: I love writing this story. I won't even lie. (I do not own anything related to the Harry Potter franchise. I am not JK Rowling.) Credit for this idea goes to Jessa L'Rynn.**

It was a lovely golden sort of morning, and Hermione Granger woke up feeling radiant. Today she was going to make a new start. She was going to be a new sort of witch. She would do all of her homework in class, so she could have free time to relax and collect herself. She would be utterly kind to Ron and not correct Harry's appalling grammar even once. She would even try to be patient with Parvati Patil's insipid giggling. In short, she was planning on taking that extra step to reach actual perfection.

This lasted all of twenty seconds.

It ended as soon as she actually got out of bed, looked in the mirror, and saw her hair. Normally bushy, today it looked like the sort of African jungle explorers have to whack through with machetes. It looked like her head was engulfed in a cloud of frizzy, curly, tangled, teased, and aerodynamic brown tentacles. She shrieked.

Lavender Brown sat up abruptly, half asleep, "Who set off the fire alarm?"

Parvati, standing at the other mirror, looked over condescendingly. "No one, Lavender. Hermione's just having a bad hair day." She giggled, and Hermione briefly considered the consequences of taking a machete to her vocal cords. "It looks like you have a bloody afro, 'Mione."

"Don't call me that," Hermione replied habitually (she hated when people tried to make nicknames from her rather unusual birth name.) "And don't say bloody, it's vulgar."

Parvati snickered, and Hermione glowered into her reflection. When her hair was in this sort of mood, a hairbrush wouldn't make a dent. She sighed, pulling her school robes on over her pajamas, a sure sign that she wasn't going to be up for much today. Parvati, however, did not get the hint. "Sorry…wouldn't want to be vulgar around innocent little 'Mione," she said, convulsing with giggles.

It took all of Hermione's considerable willpower to keep her from actually bashing Parvati's skull in with her wand. Magic be damned, she wanted her victim to suffer! But she stopped herself. Trying to retrieve some hint of her prior radiance, she held her head high and started for the common room.

She had barely started to walk down the stairs, when she heard Harry's groggy morning voice, "Blimey, look at that!" She grimaced…er…smiled, and saw him pointing at her head.

"What?" she asked, voice icy.

"Erm…Don't you not know about your hair? It's huge, Herm'."

Hermione took a moment to collect her thoughts and come all the way into the fairly empty common room, before turning to face Harry and fairly screaming, "It's 'do you not know', not 'don't you not know', double negatives cancel each other out! And of course I know, idiot. Unlike you, I generally look in a mirror in the morning…and for the last time, call me Hermione. I _hate _nicknames!"

Harry looked rather confused, a perennial expression of his, and replied. "I look in a mirror, sometimes."

Hermione made an unintelligible sound that was somewhat akin to a frustrated shriek, grumble, and moan, all at once. _Arrrghackt!_ Then she turned on her heel and climbed out of the portrait hole, hair stretching to encompass the entire opening. As she strode down the hall, she could hear the Fat Lady's voice behind her, "In all my days at Hogwarts, such unkemptness…I never. I knew that Hermy-girl would come to a bitter end." Hermione stopped dead in her tracks, hand gripping her wand.

_I must not curse a portrait. I must not curse a portrait. Oh, that bloody cow had it coming to her…No! I must not do magic in the corridors. I must not do magic in the corridors…NO MAGIC!_

She practically flew to the Great Hall.

Unfortunately, as soon as she arrived at the Gryffindor table, a familiar irritating voice greeted her. "Ermio!"

She whipped her head around to see Ron's grinning freckly face. "What. Was. That?"

"Just thought I'd try it out…you know…" he paused uncertainly, "it's the middle section of your name…"

Hermione stood up and her voice became so shrill that dogs all over Scotlandhave howled in pain."I bloody well know that it is the middle section of my name, you git. And you bloody well know that I hate it when people try to give me nicknames!"

Ron looked sideways at Dean Thomas, "Must be put off about her hair…"

They both laughed, and Hermione carefully sat down, and deliberately ground her heel into Ron's foot until she heard something crack unpleasantly. She then stood and left Ron sitting there gasping wordlessly in pain.

Hermione was seething now, and her hair seemed to have become exponentially bigger in response to her anger. As she came into the Entrance Hall, it looked rather like a brown bushy monster was attempting to eat her whole. Not knowing what she wanted to do, and wondering how her day could have possibly gone so wrong in so short an amount of time, Hermione headed for the main doors, thinking that a stroll around the grounds might help her to calm down.

Unfortunately, just as she was leaving, Hagrid was coming in. He smiled and hailed her with a friendly, "Mornin', 'Mione," that made her whole body shake, and her teeth grind.

Hagrid looked rather frightened, and asked, "Allrigh' there, 'Mione?"

Hermione was visibly twitching now. She said, in a strangled sort of voice, "I. Hate. Nicknames."

Hagrid laughed, "Aww…but it ain't a nickname, it's just how I be speakin', 'Mione. I know whole names're important—Don' be mad."

Hermione's body slackened, and she looked up into Hagrid's concerned eyes. "Do you have any garden gnomes you need removed? Because I really want to throw something."

He nodded. "Thas righ'...healthy 'spression of anger…thas the key."

Hermione just smiled serenely, and walked out the doors.

**A/N: Advice for aspiring fanfic writers: Don't be lazy. Type Hermione's whole name, or she will kill you in your sleep. ;) Please review!**


	6. The Fangirls Return

**Quidditch Conversations**

**Chapter 6: Return of the Fangirls: The Great Meatball Caper**

**A/N: I'm just going to put this out there: I have no idea what spurred this utterly ridiculous chapter. I hope you enjoy it, it's really long, and there is some wicked banter.  
**  
It was a nice warm spring day. Harry and Ron should have been studying for exams, but were, in fact, in midair doing a little Quidditch practice. Ron released the Snitch, and Harry gave it a little head start, and then zoomed after it. They'd been doing this for a while, when they decide to take a break.

"Man, I'm wiped," Harry said, interestingly enough, as he wiped the sweat from his brow.

Ron laughed. "Same here, I need some food."

Harry's eyes grew large and glazed, as they often did when food was the subject of conversation. "Like lasagna."

Ron joined Harry in the teenage boy rhapsody, "Or spaghetti."

"With meatballs!"

"Yeah! That's exactly what I want. Meatballs," Ron said, grinning in wonderment.

"Let's go to dinner, maybe we'll get lucky," said Harry, already beginning his descent to the field below.

Lurking beneath the bleachers were those ubiquitous dwellers of shadows, unaffiliated with any known house or class, the Random Fangirls. They lived simply to gaze upon the person of Harry Potter, or occasionally Draco Malfoy. The Malfoy girls typically had black hair, to indicate their darker nature.

But now, here, were two bona fide Harry Potter Fangirls. Random Fangirl the First's eyes lit up, hearing this conversation through her black market-early beta edition of the Weasley twins' Extendable Ears. "Meatballs."

Random Fangirl the Second began to smile in a way that would be construed as malicious, if she had possessed more than the obligatory three brain cells. "Finally, a way to get through to him."

Random Fangirl the First also began to smile, "It'll be even better than that time we ate squid."

"Much better," Random Fangirl the Second replied, and they fell into each other, laughing.

Later, in the bushes outside of the Scotland National Meatball Factory, the two Random Fangirls plotted their hostile takeover. Most people would think that hijacking a factory because a boy made an offhand comment about his fondness for meatballs is a bit excessive. But for the Random Fangirls, it was a labor of love.

"So. Here we are," Random Fangirl the First said, peering through the leafy thickness.

Random Fangirl the Second sat up straighter, "Yep. So, now what?"

Random Fangirl the First looked slightly sheepish. "Well, in the movies the guard is always asleep."

Random Fangirl the Second stood up, and quickly glanced at the guard station, before sitting back down with a thump. "This one isn't."

"I know."

Random Fangirl the Second looked angry."We can't be foiled already! We haven't had any madcap adventures yet! AND we haven't seen Harry in over two hours!"

Random Fangirl the First dropped her head in utter dejection, "I know. It looks like we have failed."

Random Fangirl the Second shook her head fiercely, and a hamster in Bristol whimpered. "We will not give up hope. We have gone further than any Fangirl before us, we will knock him out."

Random Fangirl the First looked shocked, "You mean—"

"Yes." And with a decisive nod, Random Fangirl the Second pulled out a giant box marked "For Emergencies Only". She carefully lifted out the Random Fangirls' most sacred possession, a giant baseball bat with a picture of Harry Potter on it, complete with a glow in the dark lightening bolt scar. "For Harry," she said solemnly.

"For Harry."

And with that they ran for the frightened but highly alert security guard and knocked him to the ground with their bats. He would be fine, they reasoned, just have a bad headache and some bruising. Then they burst into the factory, both wielding giant Harry Bats. Random Fangirl the First shouted out, "Alright, this is a stick up!"

Everyone looked mildly puzzled, and a Random Factory Worker (a sort of poor cousin to the Random Fangirls) said, very deliberately, "What?" They quickly brained him just like the security guard.

"Go get all the meatballs, and keep your hands in plain view," Random Fangirl the Second called, obviously enjoying herself immensely.

About half an hour later, Harry and Ron were sitting at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, eating dinner (which, coincidentally, was spaghetti and meatballs), when they heard a disturbance in the Entrance Hall.

Argus Filch fall through the giant doors, as he was run over by a dump truck full of meatballs, the Random Fangirls in the cab. "These are for you, Harry!"

Harry's jaw dropped open, and he wordlessly gestured to his plate.

Random Fangirl the First smacked her head. "Damnit, today was meatballs."

Random Fangirl the Second (who is becoming more aggressive by the line, and in grave danger of becoming an actual character) jumped down from the truck and ran up to Harry. "After all we went through, you better eat some of these!"

Ron perked up. "I'll eat them!" he said, to scathing looks from the Random Fangirls.

Harry looked sheepishly at his best friend. "I think they're for me."

"The girls or the meatballs?" Ron asked, looking confused.

Harry sighed. "Well... actually, both."

"No fair, you have all the luck."

Hermione, at this point, felt the need to assert her presence. "You are ridiculous, Ron."

"What?" he asked, looking as though he'd forgotten she was there. At that point, he only had eyes for the hot girls driving the meatball truck.

Hermione grimaced, "I just don't think you should like someone for their looks alone, you don't even—"

"But I like YOU!" At this pronouncement, the entire Great Hall fell silent, and quite a few jaws dropped. This was even better then Fangirls achieving characterdom…this was teen awkwardness!

Hermione smiled slowly, "You do?" All the girls in the Great Hall gave the obligatory _awww (_except Pansy Parkinson, but no one even noticed, because she always had a stick up her ass anyway.)

They hugged for a moment, and Ron gave Harry a thumbs up behind Hermione's back. But then, unfortunately, Hermione's brain clicked back into action. "Wait. You don't think I'm pretty!"

Harry sighed. "Idiot," he said softly. Didn't Ron know that you never declare affection unless a terrible accident has just occurred or you have just won a major Quidditch match? You can't just go breaking rules willy nilly like that.

The Random Fangirls sensed an opening, and with a resounding, "Harry, we think _you're_ pretty!" reverted to their former vapidity, all sense of personality evaporating.

Hermione grinned maliciously, "I think you're pretty too, Harry!"

Harry sighed. "Of course you do. It's the tragic past and dark disheveledness, right?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, it's just that I'm pissed at Ron. Let's go hang out in a broom cupboard for a while and make everyone think we had sex."

Random Fangirl the Second, retaining no traces of the girl who knocked out a security guard and yelled at Harry Potter, brightly asked, "Can we come?"

"Sure." Harry shrugged, and the four walked out from the silent Great Hall together.

A second later, Ron realized he was still standing up, and everyone was staring at him. Parvati grabbed his hand. "Are you okay, Ron?"

"Sure," he said. "They forgot the meatballs."


End file.
